Rose Tyler, This Is Your Life
by CountryGirl914
Summary: She thought losing him was the worst thing that could ever happen in her life. She was wrong. Spoilers for 4x11, Turn Left.


**A/N:** _Turn Left_ fic, because I am a lemming. This was written quickly, so constructive criticism is welcome.

* * *

She thought losing him was the worst thing that could ever happen in her life.

She was wrong.

Worse is finding him again and again, either too early or too late, right place and wrong time or right time and wrong place. She has little control over it, and once, horribly, she appears in front of Canary Wharf as destruction descends around her. It's so, _so_ tempting, the idea that she could just go inside and warn herself…_don't let go of the lever_.

But she's learned, knows that actions can have unintended consequences, so she hides behind some wreckage and stays alive as lasers blast and people scream around her.

When she finally sees Mickey in front of her again, her fists are sore and cramped from clenching, and there are bloody half-moons on her palms.

* * *

Something happens, what she is not sure, and everything goes pear-shaped, facts and events becoming muddled in her mind. Timelines are overlapping, and she gives them names to keep them straight—there's the wrong universe, which is Pete's world; there is the _right_ right universe, where for the moment everyone is alive and well; and then there is the _wrong_ right universe, where the Doctor does not meet his red-haired companion and is…she can't say it. She can't even think it, because it's not right, it's not true—it's not permanent. Something has caused this, and she will fix it. The universe—all universes—need the Doctor.

(_She_ needs the Doctor.)

The circumstances surrounding his death haunt her. The UNIT soldier is wrong—it couldn't have happened too fast for him to regenerate. The only explanation for what has happened is…he gave up. And she can't think about that, about what that means her leaving did to him. There's blood on her hands she can't wash off.

An image of him appears before her, all pinstripes and sad, sad face, telling her that it's not her fault, that she shouldn't feel guilty.

She thinks of a pot calling a kettle black, and the spectre disappears.

* * *

_Sarah Jane Smith, feared dead_, the newswoman says, and she bites her fist, trying to keep the sobs from coming out. _No_. No, this can't be happening. First the Doctor, and now this…she can't lose anyone else.

By the time the Sontarans take Jack, she has no tears left to cry.

* * *

Many times, when they find her after she's been pulled through, UNIT pairs her with a young man named Ross, and she can remember enough of the other timeline to know that he's actually lived longer in this one. She wants to tell him, wishes she could warn him somehow, but what could she say that wouldn't just make him think she's crazier than he already thinks she is? Would he even be able to remember? And if he could, who's to say it wouldn't change the timelines again, tipping the balance back to chaos and destruction?

So she stays silent, digging his grave with every step she takes.

* * *

All the UNIT soldiers, even the brass, salute and call her "Ma'am," as if they think she's a hero—as if she's the _Doctor_—and she wants to scream at them, scream and shake them all until they realize that she's just a little girl bluffing about Shadow Proclamations on a Sycorax ship.

They never do, because she has a TARDIS key and something of the wolf about her and somehow a London shop girl has become the universes' last hope.

* * *

It brings her to tears many times, seeing the condition of the Doctor's beloved ship. The poor girl is barely hanging on, all rooms but the console room gone, lights out, silent. She feels the same way sometimes. She is tired, so very tired, and she wishes sometimes that she could curl up on the jump seat and just go to sleep forever, the two of them sitting on some street corner, collecting dust, until they're forgotten. But hang on the TARDIS does, perking up every time she touches her, so she does it often. She strokes the centre column and talks, about the Doctor and their adventures and everything, no matter how crazy (crazier) it makes her seem to the soldiers around her. If the TARDIS can stay strong, so can she.

* * *

Donna is _not_ going to die. This Donna will, but her death will reset the timeline, and the other Donna will live. There will still be an amazingly funny and strong-willed ginger woman out there to keep the Doctor in line, to slap him down (sometimes literally) when he becomes too alien or rude. This is not the end of the woman she already considers her friend, who even without the Time Lord has grown into an amazing person.

She tells herself this, every time she hints to Donna at what she must do to make her past self turn left. She tells herself this to try to make herself feel better about what is to come.

It doesn't help.

* * *

It's done now, Donna fading before her eyes, the necessary warning whispered into her ear. As she pulls back she can already feel the timelines twisting and reforming, the _right_ right universe overtaking the _wrong_ right universe once more. Now the real fight against the darkness can begin. Donna, Sarah Jane, Jack, the Doctor—they'll all be back. With just one of them, she'd say she has a chance. All of them?

They'll be unstoppable.

"Oh, Donna Noble," she whispers, "I can't _wait_ to meet you."

* * *


End file.
